


as natural as the air we breathe

by Cirro



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Spirits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 06:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2721434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirro/pseuds/Cirro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanji will always find Zoro.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as natural as the air we breathe

**Author's Note:**

> _A prelude:_
> 
>  
> 
> _(Cold settles in the unoccupied spaces between his ribcage and the curve of his spine. The lake remains frozen, an echoing silence in the wake of ice.)_

Gravel crunches beneath his feet, the stones smooth and rounded from the constant rush of waves from the lake. They dig through the soles of his sandals, worn and dirty and made of interwoven straw that come apart in the heat of summer. He has replaced them too many times to count, and he hates the task each time. There are mountains across the lake, an imposing grey set firmly against the backdrop of an equally grey sky. It’s cloudy, and the ice that creeps over the water is fragile and brittle, fine lines spider webbing across the surface.

Zoro knows if he were to venture out there he would drown.

It’s cold enough for his breath to frost over, and he can feel the frigid air slide down his spine until goosebumps prickle across his skin. He wraps his _jinbaori_ tighter around his shoulders, but the thin material doesn’t do much to block out the cold and his fingers still feel stiff from the chill. Blowing on his hands only helps so much.

There are no other signs of life; no waves lapping at the shoreline, no bitter wind howling against the trees, no birds flitting across the bushes, rustling deadened leaves in their wake. There is only the sound of crackling ice and his own footsteps displacing the rocks that dig into the muddy ground. It is peaceful ( _unnerving_ , his mind supplies).

Pine needles litter the dirt where the shoreline ends and the forest begins, and the scent is strangely comforting in this peaceful, grey world (he finds that this peace makes him jittery and suspicious, and he feels increasingly on edge, teeth gritted and shoulders tensed and _how can peace be so_ _unnerving?_ ). He eyes the world around him, wary of possible dangers despite (because of) the silence, and he has an absurd urge to reach for his right side even though nothing is there. It’s disturbing; he knows he is missing something, and the distinct lack of weight on his right hip is jarring, the unoccupied space a gaping maw that mocks him with its emptiness. A silent sigh escapes his lips, his breath falling across his sunburned skin before it dissipates into the air, and Zoro feels, for once in his life, _lost._ (There is no sun here, but Zoro doesn’t notice.)

He doesn’t remember how he got here. And so he walks because there is nothing left to do.

He walks as if for an eternity and it feels like he’s walking in circles, but he doesn’t feel an urgent need to be anywhere. He keeps the lake to his left, the forest to his right, and continues to go forward, the displaced air chilling his ears until they’re almost numb. Despite his lethargic pace he grows increasingly wary because _something is wrong with this place_ (why is it so _cold_?), and Zoro trusts his instincts because this frigid peace is loud and screeching even in the pervasive silence, and it feels wrong wrong _wrong wrong-_

Zoro shuts his eyes and stops walking, his fingers curling against his sides as he fights against the silent screaming, and he ignores the way his fingers and his toes have begun tingling from exposure to the cold. _It’s nothing_ , he tells himself firmly. Because although his instincts are telling him that something is wrong, he can’t actually find anything out of place. If anything, the surrounding area feels familiar even though Zoro is sure he has never been here before. Zoro was used to mountains and their forests (listen, a soft sound of crackling ice, whisper quiet as the crystals gently snap apart), but the cold and the ice that creep along the edges of the frozen lake is something foreign and it makes his fingers reach for-

Well. He’s not so sure for what, anymore (a reassurance usually carried by his side, but he has forgotten and the gaping maw grows wider and wider and-). The thought makes him feel slightly ill (as if he has forgotten a promise that defines him), but it’s as if a heavy fog has settled across his mind, a shield of molasses that makes his thoughts thick and murky, and even though he pushes against the mass (because Zoro meets his challenges head on and if he gets trapped in the tar-like blockade, it is only because he is not strong enough and that is his own fault) it’s unyielding. Only his fingers manage to dip in. A glimpse of a smile, a promise, and a challenge filled with cigarette smoke are the only things that manage to cross the threshold and then the fog abruptly disappears, taking away the echoing sound of laughter that had been vibrating against his fingertips.

(a hollow, aching emptiness lingers because everything has been taken from him so what’s the point of staying here? Move on, Zoro. Don’t get attached to things that are already gone)

It’s enough to shock him into stumbling forward, eyes snapping open as the ice crackles loudly to his left (he doesn’t notice), and when he finally regains his footing, jaw locked and shoulders tensed, lifting his head up to resume his pointless wandering despite his trepidation, there is suddenly a restaurant stall twenty steps ahead of him, a thin tendril of smoke escaping from the flaps of cloth hanging from its red shackled roof. He can see a row of stools lining up in front of a counter, but the cloth obscures the rest.

 _Unnatural_. Again, his fingers twitch. Instinctively, he reaches for his –

He blinks.

And blinks again at the tide of emptiness left in the wake of _you forgot you forgot what did you forget it’s important don’t forget_. When he blinks again his fingers are not trembling but he feels off kilter all the same. Zoro is starting to hate this place, wherever it is. Zoro is a man accustomed to wandering, but here he feels like it’s not of his own volition, and he can’t shake the feeling that something is watching him.

(Zoro has forgotten who he is and who he can be, and that is perhaps what is most daunting about this place. But Zoro does not notice.)

A sharp sound cuts through the air, and Zoro vaguely registers it as another piece of ice breaking away. He ignores it in favour of observing the stall.

Warmth seems to exude from the restaurant, a stark contrast to the cold and the frozen sheet of water that overlies the shoreline, and it’s so very tempting to just push past the flaps of cloth and walk right in. The restaurant even seems closer now, ten steps away instead of twenty, and Zoro isn’t sure if that’s because his feet have betrayed him or if the restaurant is taunting him.

Zoro finds that he doesn’t really care.

The strips of cloth are warm on his skin as he pushes past them, ducking his head a little out of habit. The sight that greets him is a welcome relief to the cold world behind him. He manages to relax minutely.

No one is in the stall though it certainly looks occupied: pots and pans lie on the lit stove, dirty plates are piled into the sink at the back corner, and a mouth-watering scent pervades the entire place with its warmth (and it feels nostalgic, strangely enough, but Zoro doesn’t think this and the thought eludes him when he tries). Zoro wonders how he hadn’t caught the scent before.

A smoldering cigarette rests in a half-filled ash tray on the serving counter, a pile of tobacco crumbling off the burning end as he watches, and Zoro distantly notes the sound of trickling water echoing from somewhere he cannot place. Despite the apparent normalcy of the scene, a limbless doll sits on one end of the counter, eyes and mouth stitched closed with what looks like steel wire. Zoro cautiously sits down at the other end of the row of seats, shoulders still tensed even though he has stopped grinding his teeth. The doll is small, tall as one and a half the lengths of his palm, and it seems to be made of burlap, the kind that could be used to house rice. It has no other distinct features. Zoro eyes the doll warily.

He has heard of places like this. _Spirits_ , they say, wonder and a hint of fear lacing their voices like sweet poison. _They lure you in with your own gluttony and devour you for your greed_. The children had been horrified and had refused to attend the winter festival ( _the nights are long so the spirits come out earlier and stay for longer and if you’re not careful they’ll snatch you away_ ), but Zoro isn’t particularly worried. He has fought greater things than spirits.

He blinks.

Has he? He doesn’t remember.

(there is the sound of thin fissures of broken ice growing wider and then silence)

Zoro is jerked out of his musings when a soft touch briefly brushes against the back of his hand. The touch is cool and fleeting, and it makes a shiver run down his spine before he glances down and-

Stares.  

A disembodied hand is sprouting from the table’s woodwork, and it abruptly disappears in a whirlwind of petals when his mouth falls open in shock. The distinct scent of _sakura_ petals fills the air before fading (it smells like home but Zoro doesn’t remember why). He leans back abruptly, gaze flitting to the limbless doll. It nods at him.

Before Zoro can even utter a sound to indicate his surprise, a voice filters out from the back of the restaurant, instantly catching his attention (he doesn’t realize that he does not reach for his side even though he should not remember). It sounds rough and smooth like the gravel on the lake’s shore (and achingly familiar as if he has heard it a thousand times before, has fought against it and listened to it and treasured it. But Zoro ignores this because he has forgotten).

"Sorry for keeping you waiting, Robin- _chan_! Coffee beans are hard to find around here."

Zoro wonders how coffee beans could be found anywhere in this godforsaken place before suddenly asking himself: _who the hell is Robin?_ He voices none of this, of course, because a moment later a figure bursts through the narrow doorway leading to the back of the restaurant and promptly freezes when he sees Zoro sitting across from him.

The sound of dripping water seems to grow louder in the ensuing silence. And then: "You’re back already?" the man asks, a cup of steaming coffee in his hands even as a frown mars his brow. If Zoro had expected anything it would not have been _that_.

The man is tall and lanky, blond hair matted to his forehead by drops of water that slip off his chin in a slow but steady rhythm. He’s paler than Zoro would have expected, skin a lighter shade of the lake’s grey mud. Another cigarette, unlit, is tucked behind his ear, and Zoro wonders if the man has forgotten that it’s there (like he has so many other times before. But Zoro does not think this, and does not recall any of those other times).

The man’s lips are blue.

 _Spirits_ , they say.

"Who are you?" says Zoro, straightforward and unmindful that he might be acting rude (he feels comfortable with the man across from him, and it feels like he’s known him for ages long past and ages that have not yet come to pass. But he has forgotten all of this, and the ache that comes with the man’s presence disappears before he can think about it).

An expression Zoro cannot place flits over the man’s visage, but it’s gone a moment later when he turns to place the cup of coffee in front of the limbless doll. “I’m Sanji, and this is Robin- _chan_ ,” the man says, gesturing politely to the doll before turning back to him, a smirk cutting across his lips. “And you’re Zoro.”

Zoro has no idea why that warrants a smirk, and it pisses him off for absolutely no reason. He grunts at the information before shifting in his seat. Despite the lit stove, he still feels cold, and he folds his arms in front of him in a meager hope for warmth. Sanji’s smirk melts into a more genuine smile before he turns back to the stove, humming a disjointed tune under his breath as he works.

(Zoro doesn’t understand why and how he can see such a small change in “Sanji’s” expression, and it makes heat pool low in his gut because he knows that smile is for him and him alone. He ignores this strange sensation because it doesn’t make sense and getting attached to things that are already gone is meaningless.)

He blinks. Leans back. (He doesn’t realize that he has raised his hand to knead at his temples, a scowl skittering across his brow as he grits his teeth in- well, he doesn’t know what, anymore.) Sanji looks over at him when he moves, and gives him another look that Zoro could almost call worry or sympathy if there was anything to be worried or sympathetic about. Sanji says nothing though, turning back to his work after a moment’s hesitation.

"Do you know where you are, Zoro?" For some reason his name sounds strange on Sanji’s tongue, and Sanji asks this carefully as if he’s wary of the response. Zoro doesn’t like it.

Zoro replies with a curt, “No. I have no idea where I am.”

"Finally admitting that you’re lost, hm?" And suddenly this shit-eating grin spreads across Sanji’s face, and Zoro almost growls at him before he catches himself.

"Shut up, shit cook." He is internally pleased when he sees Sanji bristle at the insult.

"Keep talking like that and you won’t get any food," says Sanji, sniffing disdainfully in his direction before turning away to converse with the stitched doll. Zoro can’t help but feel that the doll is amused by their antics.

"You’re making me something?" he asks instead. Sanji looks over at him in surprise, mouth still open mid-word. Zoro clears his throat awkwardly in apology, but the doll- "Robin" doesn’t seem to mind the interruption. She is definitely amused.

"Of course I’m making you something, marimo. Isn’t that what you came here for?"

(Zoro doesn’t notice the unusual nickname because it sounds so natural and right coming from Sanji’s lips, and this scene is oh so familiar and nostalgic and it makes his bones ache with _want_ even though Zoro isn’t the type of person to be shackled down by earthly desires.

Don’t get attached to things that are already gone, Zoro.)

"I…" Zoro frowns. "You came to me," he says. And somehow he knows that it’s true. (He knows this with a certainty reserved for dreams that will be accomplished, a blind faith that has led them to victory every single time the odds have been against them.

There is the distant sound of cracking ice outside of the restaurant stall, and Zoro doesn’t notice.)

Silence reigns for a moment between the three of them. Water slides off Sanji’s skin, counting down the seconds drip by drip. Then, a quiet remark that seems to slip past Sanji’s (blue, why blue?) lips involuntarily: “I guess that’s true. I always do try and find you.”

Zoro blinks. Ice cracks. Then Sanji snorts, “always fucking lost.” and the sudden heavy mood dissipates, returning to the comfortable feeling of warmth (and _home_ , but Zoro forgets that he heard another piece of the frozen lake snap off). Zoro growls at him but is ignored. Sanji turns away to grab a plate before arranging something on top of the dish, and Zoro watches the way he moves so naturally in the kitchen, as if he was part of it himself. There is a flash of blue underneath the edge of Sanji’s rolled-up sleeve (pinstripe collar shirt, a three piece suit that is wholly impractical but Sanji had always been weird like that, and blue looks good on him, it does, and Zoro not-wonders if he should tell him), and Zoro squints at it when he realizes that it’s _moving_.

“Here you go. _Onigiri_ for the lost marimo, as per usual,” he says, a fond smile curling the edges of his lips even though Zoro knows that he’s trying to annoy him on purpose. Zoro accepts the food gratefully (how strange that he is not suspicious anymore), but he is once more distracted by the way _something_ moves across Sanji’s skin.

“What is that?” he asks, gesturing offhandedly at the mark. Sanji stiffens, and Zoro has the impression that the doll is looking at him worriedly even though her eyes and mouth have been stitched closed.

“What is what?” It’s a redundant question meant to stop him from asking, but Zoro isn’t deterred.

He points. “That.”

The heavy silence returns. The mark on Sanji seems like a tattoo at first, swirling and blue and somehow _alive_. It’s like the ocean (and listen, there it is again, ice cracking apart as the lake thaws), and Zoro can’t help the feeling that it suits him. But, like the unnerving peace from the lake’s shoreline, it feels wrong despite the smears of blue ink that has spattered across this man called Sanji because- well. Ink isn’t supposed to be there at all.

The silence shakes when Sanji says, voice deadened and eyes flat, water dripping from the tapered ends of his hair: “it’s from when I drowned.”

(A heavy splash of water rocks the lake outside as another piece of ice cracks off from the shore, and the frozen crystals break apart from the rocks like shattered glass.

Zoro is starting to notice.)

“You drowned?” he asks, perplexed. Drowned…but how? Sanji is standing right in front of him (Zoro doesn’t realize that it’s supposed to be unnatural, the way rivulets of water run down Sanji’s cheek bones and across his blue lips). But Zoro suddenly remembers that unnerving, _screaming_ peace from the grey world behind him, cold and silent and so, so wrong. His voice does not tremble, and his fingers remain still, but he is reeling from the realization pounding at his temples. “I- Where am I?”

Silence again. A brush of a disembodied hand against his own. An attempt at comfort, Zoro realizes with a start. Because. Well. Because-

“You’re dead, Zoro.”

(The name sounds so wrong coming from Sanji’s smoke-laden throat and it makes his skin crawl.)

He swallows heavily.

“And you?”

A sad smile (it makes Zoro want to lean over and brush it off with the back of his knuckles, scarred and calloused from years of hard work and determination and fervent promises. He doesn’t. Because even though he has forgotten, they are not like that and they will never be like that, and this he knows as well as the colour of his own blood). “We all are.”

“Then…where is everybody?” he asks (Zoro does not know who “everybody” is, but he _needs_ to know because his fingers are twitching for that reassurance at his side except it’s not there and it’s not anywhere). Sanji gives him this wry grin that does nothing for his deadened gaze.

“Most people just move on from this place. You can’t stay here for too long or else you’ll disappear for good. Robin- _chan_ only stopped by to visit.” It doesn’t answer his question, but Zoro doesn’t press.

“Then why are you here?”

A pause. “I’m waiting for someone,” Sanji says, and he doesn’t look at him when he says it, and Zoro doesn’t want to ask “who?” (because he knows. He _knows_ the answer. Because Sanji always finds him, and he wishes he could find him, too. Maybe this time, he will. _Remember_ , he tells himself. But he doesn’t).  

“You’re an idiot,” he mutters, leaning his cheek on the palm of his hand (scarred and rough, and he doesn’t remember why) and looking away from this man who _is_ an idiot (but he is an idiot who cares too much and loves too hard, and Zoro _misses him-_ ) _._ The remark earns him a smack to the back of his head, and Zoro almost falls over on the stool.

Robin is definitely laughing at him. He notes with a distant sort of curiosity that her cup of coffee is now empty. Sanji seems to notice this at the same time and gives her a sweet smile that makes him look more like a boy than a man who has been waiting waiting waiting.

“You’re going now, Robin?” The endearment is dropped and it makes the cold a little more noticeable. The doll tilts her head in acknowledgement, and Sanji reaches over the counter for the empty cup (slowly and hesitantly as if he doesn’t want to let her go, and Zoro, if he could remember, would understand why). The moment his fingers touch the porcelain rim, she is gone, and they are left alone with a lingering scent of _sakura_ that fades all too quickly in the cold air.

Another moment of silence passes between them, though this time it is heavy for all the things that are unsaid and missing and gone, and it feels as if Sanji is grieving even though they’re already dead. Zoro stays silent.

The flick of a lighter steals his attention, and Zoro watches patiently as Sanji lights up another cigarette (he has forgotten about the one tucked behind his ear). The image Sanji creates breaks the solemnity of their grief (though Zoro doesn’t recognize that he has been grieving because he has forgotten that Robin is not just a doll stitched together with steel wire and burlap threads, but he grieves, nonetheless). When Sanji exhales the toxic smoke, he seems like the perfect picture of ease, and Zoro feels himself relax subconsciously. They talk no more of the stained porcelain cup resting between Sanji’s fingers, and the doll that has moved on ahead of them.

Sanji sets the cup in the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes, and Zoro hands him his own empty plate after stuffing the remains of his meal into his mouth. Sanji stares at the plate in his hand before looking at him with a carefully guarded expression, but before he can reach over to take it (slowly and hesitantly as he did for Robin’s coffee cup), Zoro pulls back because- Well. He has always helped with the dishes, hasn’t he?

The shoreline creaks with an invisible weight, but Zoro doesn’t pay it much attention because Sanji is staring at him with something close to shock. His tattoos seem to turn a shade lighter but Zoro’s not sure if it’s just a trick of the light (though there is no sun here, only a frozen lake with broken ice). But before he can even think to ask “what’s wrong?”, Sanji looks past his shoulder towards the shore, mouth set in a grim line that dims his tattoos into a stormy grey.  

"The lake has been frozen for a long time, you know. I’ve been waiting for it to thaw since, well, since this," he says, gesturing towards the swirling ink that adorns his pale skin. He looks grim, and it makes Zoro more uneasy than the missing weight at his side (his side feels cold without that weight, but the unoccupied spaces between his ribcage and the curve of his spine are colder).

“And you’re waiting for someone,” Zoro says more than asks. Sanji only nods.

“He’s a fucking idiot who keeps on getting lost so I’ve been waiting for ages to bring him back home.”

“He’s that important to you.”

The reply comes without hesitation. “Of course.”

(and the heat that has been simmering low in his gut grows hotter still, veins filled with an inexplicable warmth that is more reassuring than he thought possible. There is the sound of rushing water as a chunk of ice splits apart and Zoro notices.

He _notices_ and then he is filled with a dread colder than the lake’s broken ice because-

 _You can’t stay here for too long or else you’ll disappear for good._ )

“How long have you been waiting?” The question is rushed and almost frantic, but Zoro can’t bring himself to care. This time Sanji _does_ hesitate, and the uncertainty is thick and heavy and cloying at the insides of Zoro’s throat (and it’s all so goddamn unnatural; this place, this air, that _look_ on Sanji’s face before he hides behind exhaled smoke).

Sanji still does not answer.

“Can you still go back?” Zoro asks.

(His toes are touching the precipice of a cliff he never knew was there, _forgot_ was there, and now he’s remembering and the ice is cracking apart under his memories. And Zoro knows with a gut-wrenching certainty that _he is going to drown._ )

He holds the breath that he doesn’t need and watches as Sanji _doesn’t look at him_.

“I don’t know.”

All is silent as he freezes.

(He never noticed when the world regained some normalcy because being around Sanji was like coming home.)

Sanji startles when the world goes mute and he’s _staring again_ and Zoro doesn’t know what to do. Zoro asks, voice low and quiet as if in secret: “Did you wait too long?”

(did I come too late? Did I not find you in time? Or did I forget- oh god I forgot I forgot _I forgot I forgot you I found you and I forgot and you were_ waiting)

The frozen sheets of ice overlying the lake groan with the weight of his realization, and the fissures split apart and _crack._ (Zoro hears it but purposefully ignores it because Sanji is- sanji is-)

Sanji is starting to look increasingly alarmed, cigarette dangling loosely from his mud grey fingers, but he doesn’t _fucking_ answer the question and Zoro knows now, he _knows_ , and the cold that has been kept at bay in this tiny restaurant stall in the middle of fuck-all creeps back in, steadily and slowly but still too quickly because it’s freezing him, he knows it now. He’s freezing and he’s _failed_.

“Zor-”

“You waited too long.” His hands clutch at his hair, tugging frantically because it’s _his fault._

“Zoro-” The stool tips over as Zoro stands abruptly, leaning across the counter that separates him from the worst (and best) person he has met in all his lifetimes.

“You should have just left, you _fucking moron_ ,” Zoro says, spitting out the words through gritted teeth. His nails leave tiny indents in the woodwork of the counter, and he is sure a splinter is now lodged in the soft flesh beneath his fingernail, but it is a poor distraction from the _infuriatingly idiotic_ man across from him.

Sanji’s expression hardens and Zoro can see that he almost bites off the end of his cigarette before he flicks it into the sink (the stain on Sanji’s skin turns black, white froth spraying across the dark waves, and the sound of rushing water fills the restaurant stall and Zoro _hates it_ ).

“Zoro, lis-”

“Shut up.”

Sanji scowls at him, teeth bared and skin stretched taut over his jawline, but he opens his mouth to try again anyway (because Sanji is like that; he cares too much and loves too hard but Zoro doesn’t care because Sanji is a _fucking bastard_ ).

“Zoro-”

(Sanji is a _fucking bastard_ and Zoro never knew he could hate someone so much until this moment and-)

“Why did you wait so long?!” (-he _hates_ him, but he doesn’t really, _he doesn’t_ , and he never knew he could sound so fucking _desperate_ and-)

“Because you are worth it, you shithead marimo!” Sanji’s exclamation reverberates through the tiny space between them, hot and fiery and so very Sanji, and Zoro can see that Sanji’s fists are clenched tight at his sides, and all he wants to do is slam him to the ground and shake some sense into him because _Sanji is a fucking idiot._

( _so fucking desperate_ )

Silence again, only interrupted by their ragged breaths.

(Neither of them notices that the remaining ice has melted away instead of cracking apart, nor do they notice that the restaurant stall has disappeared along with the frozen shoreline.

They do not realize that the only thing separating them is the space they have created for themselves.)

“Zoro. Just listen.” It is both a demand and a plea, and Sanji is staring at him again and the waves streaked across his skin are placid and a deep blue, his fingers no longer white-knuckled (Zoro realizes with a start that he knows them as well as he knows his own). They stare at each other for a moment longer, waiting and trying to understand without words (because to put it into words would be to accept the truth that comes with it, and both of them are reluctant to hear it because they are too awkward and clumsy around each other, too used to explosive fights and meaningless insults meant to do nothing but catch the other’s attention. But despite that, they trudge onward with clumsy steps because this is important.

It is important because there is no time left in this timeless, cold, dead world.)

And so Sanji begins, haltingly and hesitantly because he doesn’t know how to force out the words that have been trapped by his own tongue every time Zoro has forgotten (which has been always except now. And now is the most important moment because Zoro is no longer lost).

“They said- they said that you would never be able to find your way home. But they never said that _we_ could never bring you home. All you needed to do was remember on your own, and we could bring you back. That was the deal. We just had to find you. And we did.”

( _Spirits, they say, wonder and a hint of fear lacing their voices like sweet poison. They lure you in with your own gluttony and devour you for your greed._

Zoro wants to laugh.

They spoke as if in reverent fear. But they were wrong. Spirits are just fucking assholes.)

“But I never remembered,” Zoro says.

A pause. “No, you didn’t. That’s why we’ve been waiting.”

“You never left.”

Another pause, then a quiet: “No, I didn’t.”

(if Sanji had left, Zoro would have remained lost because- well. Sanji always did know how to find him.)

“You would have done the same,” Sanji says. It’s an accusation and a saving grace all in one.

“Yeah, I would have,” he says quietly. The admittance feels like defeat.

(and really, they are both idiots because they never realize how much the other is willing to do for them, and they go through every lifetime thinking that they could never be more than what they are but they _could._ They could. But they both value things over themselves because they think the same way as naturally as they breathe air into their lungs, as naturally as they occupy the spaces behind each other’s backs, and it is because this is just how they are.

They are both idiots.)

“So… will you go?” And if Sanji doesn’t look at Zoro while he asks this, lighting up another cigarette as a flimsy shield that he knows Zoro can see through, Zoro doesn’t mention it.

“Only if you go with me.”

“What, I need to hold your fucking hand now?” Sanji’s words have no real bite to them, belied because Zoro knows that he is terrified (and Zoro freely admits that he is, too).

But for once in his many lifetimes, Zoro doesn’t rise up to the bait. “Shut up. I’m not leaving you behind.”

And here Sanji lifts up his head and looks Zoro directly in the eye, wavering even as Zoro stands firm, and Zoro knows that Sanji’s about to say some stupid thing that he cannot and will not agree to.

“Zoro…” but Zoro interrupts him with a snarl.

“I’m not going without you.”

Sanji bows his head and shuffles his feet.

“And if I can’t go with you?” It is asked with a quiet fear. Zoro refuses to accept it as a possibility.

“Then we’ll find another way.”

A pause that lasts no more than five seconds (and it is the longest Zoro has ever waited and it is the moment where he puts his entire faith in Sanji and waits for him to make the right decision. You’d be surprised at how often he would choose the wrong one).

But then the endless five seconds are over and a tentative smirk suddenly blooms on Sanji’s face as he looks up, and Zoro feels relief fill his veins with a bone-aching warmth that leaves him almost breathless. “Leave it to luck, was it, marimo?”

“It’s a better plan than whatever dumbass thing you thought up.”

Sanji scoffs but doesn’t bother to retort because he knows that Zoro is right.

Zoro blinks when Sanji offers up his hand.

“Well?” and there is that shit-eating grin again, and Zoro feels his own lips stretch upwards in reply.

“God, you’re such an asshole.” But he reaches for Sanji anyway.

A touch between their fingertips explodes in a burst of electricity, rippling through the still air like the sound of cracking ice. But there is no longer a cold, unoccupied space between his ribcage and the curve of his spine, and it’s all Zoro can do to grip Sanji (who feels warm and right, like _home_ and, god, he _missed_ him-) tighter and tighter as the world roars around them and-

Well.

And then they are gone. 

( )

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 5 of kumiko-sama-chan's ZS Christmas Exchange on Tumblr. Through this experience I’ve learned that I’m absolutely awful at keeping within set parameters. And it seems that I have taken the opportunity to experiment A LOT with this story, so I apologize for any confusion that may arise. I am under the grand delusion that I managed to pull it off to some extent but I'll leave that up to you to decide. Nevertheless, I hope you guys enjoy it! 
> 
> Happy holidays, everyone :)


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